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FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 


REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED   BY  HIM  TO 


THE  LIBRARY  OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


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LIVING    P1CTU 


<2II)nrc^  of  tlje  $o!g  dTommunion, 


OTHER  THOUGHTS  IN  VERSE. 


BY     ^ 

KATHARINE    INGMIRE. 


NEW   YORK: 
ANSON  D.  F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY, 

900   BROADWAY,    COR.    20th    ST. 


Copyright,  1878,  by 
Anson  D.  F.  Randolph  &  Company. 


"  In  a  good  work  our  hopes  should  be  high  in 
the  beginning,  however  we  may  fall  short  i7i  the 
end.  When  Christ  is  the  sure  foundation-stone, 
elect  and  precious,  we  may  piously  trust  that 
the  temple  of  living  stones  may  arise,  animated 
by  His  Spirit,  adorned  by  His  grace,  bound 
together  by  His  love,  and  everywhere  inscribed. 
Holiness  to  the  Lord." 

[Dr.  Muhlenberg 's  address  at  the  laying  of 
the  corner-stone  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Com- 
mmiion,  New  York,  July  24,  1844.] 


^xtiutt. 


Coming  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Com- 
munion thirty  years  after  the  words  I  have 
quoted  were  spoken  by  its  first  pastor,  and 
carefully  observing  its  work,  I  soon  felt  that 
the  hopes  must  have  been  high  indeed  in  the 
beginning  that  had  not  been  already  more 
than  realized.  On  expressing  my  feelings  in 
"  Dreamland  Church  in  Stone,"  I  found  I 
had  only  echoed  the  thoughts  of  hundreds, 
many  of  whom  thanked  me  so  warmly  for 
that  expression,  and  still  ask  for  copies  of 
it,  that  I  have  been  tempted  to  send  forth 
this  volume  (in  aid  of  one  of  the  many  chari- 
ties of  the  church),  which  I  affectionately  in- 
scribe to  the  "  dear,  familiar  friends"  who 
now  gather  around  me,  and  make  me  feel 
that  I  can  no  longer  say  with  truth  that  I  am 
a  "  lone,  strange  worshipper." 

K.  I. 

(5) 


Hmmtetid  (Sfamlx  in  $ttmt. 

THOUGHTS   ON   THE  CHURCH   OF  THE  HOLY  COM- 
MUNION,   NEW  YORK. 

"  This  shall  be  my  rest  forever ;  here  will  I  dwell,  for  I  have  a  de- 
light therein." 

A  Dreamland  Church  once  stood  for  me 

Within  a  charming  book ; 
I  never  thought  on  church  so  fair 

With  earthly  eyes  to  look ; 
But  when  the  last  awaking  came, 

And  death's  long  sleep  was  o'er, 
I  hoped  a  fairer  still  to  see 

Upon  the  eternal  shore. 

A  stranger  in  the  city,  I 

Set  out  to  find  a  home, 
And  wandered  till  I  heard  a  bell 

That  said  so  plainly,  "  Come," 

(9) 


IO  Dreamland  Church  in  Stone. 

I  could  but  choose  to  follow  on, 

Drawn  by  a  sound  so  sweet, 
And  thank  the  Lord,  who  to  this  place 

First  led  my  weary  feet. 

For  rest,  and  sweetest  rest  I  found 

Within  the  dear  church-wall 
Where  Mammon  is  exalted  not, 

Where  God  is  all  in  all. 
Where  praises  flow  as  freely  as 

The  blessings  God  doth  give ; 
Where  Christ's  own  poor  are  feasted,  and 

The  poor  in  spirit  live. 

Where  kindly  deeds  show  forth  the  thanks 

The  loving  lips  express  ; 
Where  alms  "  lend  wings  to  prayer,"  and  make 

A  church  that  God  doth  bless. 
Where  I,  an  unknown  wrorshipper 

Within  the  holy  place, 
Have  sweet  communion  found,  though  not 

One  dear,  familiar  face. 


Dreamland  Church  in  Stone.  II 

The  loved  and  lost  seem  very  near, 

The  Saviour  nearer  still ; 
The  Comforter  comes  down  to  me 

And  shows  the  Father's  will, 
And  with  the  unknown  choir  around 

I  join  the  choir  above, 
And  "  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,"  sing, 

And  taste  the  feast  of  love. 

Now,  next  the  church  where  I  was  born 

God's  child  and  heir  to  be, 
That  gave  through  all  my  early  years 

Her  tender  care  to  me, 
I  love  the  dear  and  precious  church 

I  found  in  sorrow's  day, 
That  seemed  to  hold  a  wondrous  power 

To  charm  my  grief  away. 

And  I — a  lone,  strange  worshipper — 

When  called  afar  to  roam, 
Leave  not  without  a  saddened  heart 

The  place  I  call  my  home, 


12  Dreamland  Church  in  Stone. 

For  I  have  found  that  Dreamland  Church 

Stands  not  alone  in  song; 
That  all  the  beauty  church  doth  need 

Doth  to  this  church  belong. 

God's  favor  rest  upon  their  heads 

Who  laid  the  glorious  plan, 
And  built  a  Dreamland  Church  in  stone 

To  bless  their  fellow-man. 
And  may  the  bell  for  aye  ring  out 

That  says  so  sweetly,  "  Come," 
And  many  seekers,  through  all  time, 

Find  here  their  Father's  home. 


Among  the  joys  of  heaven 
The  least  may  not  be  this  j 

The  memory  of  holy  hours 
That  came  so  near  its  bliss, 

(13) 


firing  girtum 

IN   THE 

CHURCH    OF    THE    HOLY    COMMUNION. 


As  in  the  interior  of  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's 
at  Rome,  stones  of  fair  color  present  to  the 
eye  pictures  of  beauty,  so  do  the  "  lively 
stones"  in  the  Lord's  house  present  pictures 
very  pleasant,  and  never  to  be  forgotten. 

P  a  x  n  i  n  g . 

THE  CHILDREN'S  BENCH. 

"  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  Thou  hast  perfected 
praise." 

Sitting  where  the  morning  sun 

Is  brightened  by  its  fall 
Through  the  gay-tinted  window 

High  in  the  church's  wall, 

li5) 


1 6  Living  Pictures. 

I  see  a  row  of  maidens  ; 

Such  little  maidens  they  ! 
But  none  too  young  to  listen, 

Or  creed  and  prayer  to  say. 

I  often  look  with  pleasure 
On  some  bright,  happy  face 

That  the  canvas  of  Angelico 
Or  Raphael  might  grace. 

You  would  think  they  understood 
Every  word  the  preacher  said, 

From  the  steady,  earnest  gaze, 
And  the  pose  of  the  head. 

And  I  think  they  understand  ; 

I'll  tell  the  reason  why. 
I  only  know  one  rule  to  judge 

Both  men  and  children  by, 

So  I  think  they  understand 

When  they  practice  what  they  hear, 


Living  Pictures.  17 

And  that  they  do  sometimes 
To  me  is  very  clear. 

For  deeds  of  thoughtful  kindness 
I  have  known  these  children  do, 

And  acts  of  self-denial 

I  have  seen  them  practice  too. 

I  once  overheard  them  say, 
"  They  loved  their  pastor  so," 

And  when  asked  the  reason,  said, 
"  He's  so  good  to  us,  you  know." 

Thus  I  see  that  love  and  pity 

And  gratitude  have  found 
A  lodgment  in  their  tender  hearts 

Like  seeds  in  fertile  ground. 

And  I  pray  these  little  maidens 

May  daily  grow  in  grace, 
And  practice  holy  preaching 

Till  they  see  the  Saviour's  face. 


1 8  Living  Pictures. 

That  the  faithful  pastor's  crown 
As  the  stars  of  heaven  may  shine, 

When  God  shall  own  his  work,  and  say, 
"  Thy  children  all  are  Mine." 


THE    LORD'S    SUPPER. 

"  As  oft  as  ye  eat  this  bread,  and  drink  this  cup,  ye  do  show  the 
Lord's  death  till  He  come." 

"  He  that  eateth  my  flesh,  and  drinketh  my  blood,  dwelleth  in  mo 
and  I  in  him." 

Somewhere  in  my  travels  a  picture  I've  seen 
Of  Luke,  the  beloved,  in  a  trance ; 

His  feet  touch  the  earth,  but  a  vision  above 
Has  caught  and  made  captive  his  glance. 

The  clouds  have  rolled  back,  as  the  waves  of 
the  sea 
Once  rolled  at  the  prophet's  command, 
And  through  the  bright  pathway  that  opens 
beyond 
Comes  a  glimpse  of  the  promised  land  ; 

And  just  at  the  entrance,  the  mother  so  meek, 
Whom  all  generations  call  blest, 

(19) 


20  Living  Pictures. 

Is  standing  and  folding  with  tenderest  care 
The  holy  Christ-child  to  her  breast. 

And  while  the  Apostle  is  gazing,  intent, 
The  angels  have  come  to  his  aid  ; 

The  colors,  so  rare,  to  the  finest  are  ground, 
In  wonderful  order  are  laid. 

His  fingers  are  moved  by  the  Spirit,  unseen, 

In  reply  to  his  earnest  prayer, 
That  the  vision  now  glowing  in  beauty  above 

May  live  on  the  canvas  as  fair. 

The  sun  from  the  zenith  is  pouring 
Its  glory  through  each  pictured  pane, 

And  chasing  the  shades  from  each  corner 
And  nook  of  the  holy  fane. 

The  sun  never  shineth  at  noontide 
In  this  place,  on  the  Lord's  own  day, 

That  shines  not  on  loving  disciples 
Assembled  to  praise  and  pray, 


Living  Pictures.  21 

And  partake  of  the  holy  emblems 
Of  Christ's  precious  body  and  blood, 

That  give  strength  to  resist  the  evil, 
And  grace  to  follow  the  good. 

The  worshippers  lowly  are  kneeling 
As  the  words  of  the  prayer  are  said, 

That  shall  make  a  heavenfy  feast  for  them 
Of  the  common  wine  and  bread. 

And  as  with  the  rest  I  am  kneeling 

A  vision  seems  coming  to  me ; 
Oh,  would  that  the  Spirit  would  aid  me 

To  paint  the  picture  I  see. 

'Tis  not  of  the  child,  and  the  mother 
With  her  exquisite,  saintly  grace, 

But  of  One  in  the  strength  of  manhood 
With  worn  and  agonized  face. 

The  sins  of  the  world  are  upon  Him, 
And  now  in  the  fierce  noonday  blaze 


22  Living  Pictures. 

He  is  hung,  and  the  surging  rabble 
All  mock  and  jest  as  they  gaze. 

The  arms  outstretched  on  the  cruel  cross 

Were  ever  extended  to  bless ; 
The  feet  now  pierced  were  swift  to  go 

At  the  cry  and  call  of  distress. 

But  hushed  are  the  people's  hosannas, 
For  envy  and  malice  bear  sway, 

And  fierce  are  the  foes  that  stand  nearest, 
And  timid  the  friends  far  away. 

The  vision  is  closing  in  blackness ; 

The  sun  its  bright  face  hath  withdrawn, 
Refusing  to  shine  on  the  anguish, 

The  body  so  bleeding  and  torn. 

But  a  voice  seems  to  say  from  the  darkness, 
"  My  body  was  broken  for  thee  ; 

Forget  not  My  dying  commandment — 
Do  this  in  remembrance  of  Me." 


Living  Pictures.  23 

My  thoughts  come  again  to  the  present,  

And  I  gaze  at  the  throng  awhile 

That  is  passing  with  softened  footfall 
To  the  altar,  down  the  aisle. 

Both  the  young  and  the  old  are  going ; 

The  old  must  have  grace  to  die  ; 
The  young  need  much  strength  for  the  battles 

With  sin  that  before  them  lie. 

And  the  strong  and  the  weak  are  going ; 

The  weak  of  much  patience  have  need, 
And  the  strong  need  the  consecration 

Of  love  for  their  every  deed. 

The  weary  and  heavily  laden 

Are  going  that  they  may  find  rest ; 

The  gay  and  light-hearted  are  going, 
For  there  they  may  be  more  blest. 

And  I  know,  dearest  Lord,  Thou  art  there ; 
Thou  hast  promised  to  meet  Thine  own ; 


24  Living  Pictures. 

To  come  to  hearts  that  forget  Thee  not, 
And  in  breaking  of  bread  be  known. 

And  I  pray  the  lives  of  Thy  children 
May  reflect  the  beauty  of  Thine, 

As  on  Saint  Luke's  canvas  the  picture 
Of  the  heavenly  vision  gave  sign. 

That  life's  work,  by  the  aid  of  the  Spirit, 

May  wear  a  far  holier  grace 
Because,  through  the  way  Thou  hast  opened, 

By  faith  we  have  seen  Thy  face. 


THE  AGED   WOMEN'S  REST. 

Abide  with  us,  for  the  day  is  far  spent  and  the  night  is  at  hand." 

The  dear  Lord's  day  is  ending ; 

The  sun,  far  on  its  way, 
Is  passing  through  the  western  gate 

To  crown  the  western  day. 

And  gray  the  shades  are  falling, 
Where  fell  such  glorious  light 

It  seemed  as  if  some  rays  from  Christ 
Were  lent  to  make  it  bright, 

To  give  His  waiting  children 

A  foretaste  of  that  day 

When  in  the  heavenly  temple 

He  shall  give  light  alway. 

(25) 


26  Livi?ig  Pictures. 

Now  as  the  shades  grow  darker 
I  turn  mine  eyes  to  where 

The  aged  ones  together  meet 
For  evening  praise  and  prayer. 

I  know  not  by  what  ways  they  came 
To  find  this  earthly  rest ; 

I  only  know,  that  having  found, 
They  surely  must  be  blest. 

For  memory  lends  her  aid  to  read 
The  look  that  I  see  there ; 

That  look  of  saintly,  calm  repose 
None  but  the  old  can  wear. 

A  look  that  ever  seems  to  say, 
"  The  day  is  well-nigh  done  ; 

The  shades  of  night  are  coming  fast, 
But  victory  is  won. 

"  The  fight  was  long  and  steady, 
The  soldiers  sorely  tried, 


Living  Pictures.  27 

But  in  His  strength  they  conquer 
Who  serve  the  Crucified." 


As  with  folded  hands  they  wait, 

They  scan  the  battle-field, 
And  praise  the  name  of  Him  who  made 

The  strongest  foeman  yield. 

On  wrinkled  brow  and  bending  form, 

On  failing  ear  and  eye, 
On  heads  of  white  and  heads  of  gray 

The  growing  shadows  lie, 

That  tell  of  night  and  darkness 

And  the  long,  quiet  rest ; 
The  flesh  in  dreamless  slumber, 

The  soul  among  the  blest. 

Life's  shadows  lie  behind  them, 

Death's  shadow  lies  before, 
But  only  through  its  darkness 

They  reach  the  shining  door 


28  Living  Pictures. 

That  opens  to  receive  them 
When  shadows  flee  away, 

And  the  King  in  all  His  beauty 
Is  seen  in  perfect  day. 


W  ttUaftjj. 

WRITTEN    FOR  THE   CHILDREN    IN    THE    BABIES' 

SHELTER,    IN   CHARGE  OF    THE    SISTERS 

OF  THE  HOLY  COMMUNION. 

Air— "Adeste  Fideles." 

"  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see  God." 

SLEEP,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near ; 

With  Him  for  a  watcher  thou  needest  not  fear  ; 

The  tenderest  babe  in  His  love  hath  a  part, 

He  keepeth  the  weakest  the  nearest  His  heart. 
His  arm  doth  uphold  them, 
His  love  doth  enfold  them, 

Then  sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near  ; 

No  father  or  mother  can  hold  thee  so  dear ; 

Since  for  Him  the  innocents  suffered  and  died, 

He  draweth  young  children  all  close  to  His  side. 

(29) 


30  Lullaby. 

His  arm  doth  uphold  them, 

His  love  doth  enfold  them, 

Then  sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near, 
And  sweet  are  His  words  as  they  fall  on  the  ear, 
"  Forbid  not  the  children  to  come  unto  Me, 
For  only  the  child-like  My  kingdom  shall  see." 
My  arm  shall  uphold  them, 
My  love  shall  enfold  them, 
Then  sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near. 

Sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near ; 

Oh,  serve  Him  forever,  my  baby,  so  dear. 

Keep  always  as  guileless  as  now  in  thy  heart, 

If  thou  from  thy  Saviour  wouldst  never  depart. 
His  arm  shall  uphold  thee, 
His  love  shall  enfold  thee, 

Then  sleep,  baby,  sleep,  for  thy  Saviour  is  near. 


Infant  tongues  should  ever  raise 
Sweetest  songs  on  Christmas  days ; 
In  a  manger,  rudely  made, 
Christ  a  little  child  was  laid. 

Like  the  shepherds  let  us  haste, 
Seek  the  blessed  Christ-child's  face ; 
Saw  we  never  babe  so  sweet, 
Let  us  worship  at  His  feet. 

There's  a  glory  round  His  head, 

Though  so  low  and  strange  His  bed ; 

Like  the  magi,  let  us  bring 

Unto  Him  our  offering. 

(31) 


32  Infant's  Christmas  Song. 

Hearts  unstained  by  sin  and  shame, 
Lips  that  ever  praise  His  name, 
Willing  feet  to  walk  His  ways, 
Minds  to  serve  Him  all  our  days. 


"  I  will  be  glad  and  rejoice  in  Thee  ;  yea,  my  songs  will  I  make  of 
Thy  name,  0  Thou  Most  Highest." 

Dear  Lord,  my  grateful  heart  would  raise 
A  thankful  song  of  ardent  praise, 
But  all  the  language  that  I  know 
Would  fail  my  joy  in  Thee  to  show. 

Without  Thy  love  on  earth  to  bless, 
This  earth  were  but  a  wilderness ; 
No  shadowing  Rock,  no  living  Bread, 
No  water  from  the  Fountain-head. 

For  me,  who  in  Thy  love  repose, 
The  desert  blossoms  as  the  rose  ; 
By  living  waters,  pure  and  sweet, 
Thou  guid'st  my  weary,  wayworn  feet, 
3  (33) 


34  Song  of  Praise. 

To  rest  within  the  Rock's  cool  shade, 
For  heavenward  pilgrims  kindly  made 
A  refuge  and  a  safe  retreat 
From  angry  storms  and  fervid  heat. 

When  looking  back  to  Calvary 
I  view  what  Thou  hast  done  for  me  ; 
Thou  drain'dst  the  cup  of  bitter  woe 
That  mine  with  joy  might  overflow. 

What  can  I  render,  Lord,  for  this 
Thy  dying  love  ? — my  dear-bought  bliss  ? 
I'll  praise  Thee  while  my  life  shall  last, 
I'll  cling  to  Thee  !  O  hold  me  fast ! 

And  when  Thy  shadowy  angel,  Death, 
Shall  draw  from  me  life's  latest  breath, 
Then  take  me  where  I'll  raise  a  strain 
Worthy  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain. 


%\\t  atotwrnettt- 


c? 


At  one,  my  God,  with  Thee  ! 
What  does  this  mean  for  me  ? 

A  Friend  so  near 

I  seem  to  hear 
His  pleading  unto  Thee  ; 

Thy  love  so  deep 

It  would  not  keep 
This  Friend  from  agony. 

At  one,  my  God,  with  Thee  ! 

What  does  this  mean  for  me  ? 
Pardon  and  peace, 
And  sure  release 

From  sin's  dread  penalty  ; 
A  perfect  dress — 
Christ's  righteousness — 

In  which  Thy  face  to  see. 

(35) 


36  The  Atonement. 

At  one,  my  God,  with  Thee  ! 
What  must  this  mean  for  me  ? 

A  narrow  way, 

Crossed  day  by  day 
With  duties  set  by  Thee  : 

A  willing  mind, 

Ever  resigned 
To  what  Thou  shalt  decree. 


At  one,  my  God,  with  Thee  ! 

What  must  this  mean  for  me  ? 
An  active  love, 
By  deeds  to  prove 

I  share  Thy  charity  : 

Patience  and  prayer, 
And  watchful  care 

Lest  I  should  part  from  Thee. 

At  one,  my  God,  with  Thee  ! 
What  shall  this  mean  for  me  ? 

After  the  strife 

The  endless  life 


The  Atonement.  t>7 

And  crown  of  victory  ; 

The  promised  rest 

In  mansions  blest, 
By  Christ  prepared  for  me. 

At  one,  my  God,  with  Thee  ! 
What  shall  this  mean  for  me  ? 

A  rapture  sweet 

When  I  shall  meet 
The  Friend  who  rescued  me, 

And  by  His  loss, 

And  through  His  cross, 
Made  me  at  one  with  Thee. 


ft  t)  mw- 

Written  for  the  Semi-Centennial  Anniversary  of  St.  Paul's 
Church,  Albany,  N.  Y.,  Oct.  21,  1877. 

Once  more,  O  Lord,  Thy  children  come 
To  praise  Thee  in  the  dear  church  home 
Which  Thou  hast  made  through  years  to  seem 
Like  that  bright  path  in  Jacob's  dream 
Where  swift-winged  angels  came  and  went, 
On  ministries  of  love  intent. 

For  this,  O  Lord,  Thy  name  we  praise, 
And  joyful  hallelujahs  raise, 
And  make  this  earthly  temple  ring 
With  glad  hosannas  to  our  King. 

For  in  this  place,  though  all  unseen, 
Thy  messengers  of  love  have  been, 
Bringing  Thy  peace  to  men  forgiven, 

Returning  with  their  thanks  to  heaven  ; 

(38) 


Hymn.  39 

Rejoicing  o'er  each  Christian  birth, 
Bearing  each  ransomed  soul  from  earth. 

Here  Faith  hath  lent  both  eyes  and  wings 
To  mount  and  gaze  on  heavenly  things  ; 
Here  Hope  hath  brought  her  colors  rare 
And  painted  pictures  wondrous  fair, 
And  Love  hath  bound,  with  threefold  cord, 
Each  unto  each,  all  to  their  Lord. 

Here  earthly  pilgrims,  heavenward  bound, 
Such  sweet  repose  and  joy  have  found 
That,  though  we  may  not  see  Thy  face, 
We  know  that  Thou  art  in  this  place, 
And  by  the  blessings  Thou  hast  given 
Made  it  the  very  gate  of  heaven. 

Be  with  us  now  as  in  past  days  ; 
Guide  us  and  keep  us  in  Thy  ways ; 
Make  every  year,  as  past  it  flies, 
Draw  us  still  nearer  to  the  skies, 
That  when  life's  journeys  all  are  done 
The  heavenly  Canaan  may  be  won. 


40  Hymn. 

Then  in  that  home  Thy  name  we'll  praise, 
And  joyful  hallelujahs  raise, 
And  make  Thy  heavenly  temple  ring 
With  glad  hosannas  to  our  King. 


Awake,  awake,  and  publish 

The  joyful  news  abroad  ; 
The  sepulchre  is  empty, 

And  risen  is  the  Lord. 
The  angels  only  wait, 

Ere  back  to  heaven  they  speed, 
To  tell  the  weeping  mourners 

The  Lord  is  risen  indeed. 

Awake,  awake,  and  follow, 

The  Master  goes  before 
May  greet  thee  in  the  garden, 

Or  meet  thee  on  the  shore  ; 
May  join  thee  on  life's  journey, 

Go  with  thee  to  the  end, 
With  words  of  peace  may  cheer  thee 

And  prove  thy  dearest  Friend. 

(41) 


42  Easter  Carol. 

Awake,  awake,  oh,  sinner, 

And  let.  the  Light  shine  in 
That  first  upon  this  morning 

Rose  o'er  a  world  of  sin. 
Wake  from  thy  deadly  slumber, 

Thy  Saviour  bids  thee  rise 
And  follow  where  He  leadeth 

Until  ye  reach  the  skies. 

Awake,  awake,  and  publish 

The  joyful  news  around  ; 
From  morning  until  evening 

Prolong  the  welcome  sound. 
The  Lord  is  risen  indeed, 

With  joy  let  mortals  say 
Till  He  shall  come  in  glory 

At  the  last  Easter  day. 


WRITTEN  ON   SEEING  A  YOUNG  AND  LOVELY  WOMAN 
INTERRED  IN  A  CITY  CHURCH-YARD. 

What  is  my  new  neighbor  like,  do  you  say, 
That  came  to  her  home  next  my  own  to-day  ? 
In  truth  I  know  not  whether  dark  or  fair ; 
If  golden  or  brown  or  raven  her  hair. 

I  know  those  who  bore  her  were  sad  of  mien  ; 
They  loved  not  the  task  that  brought  them,  I 

ween, 
For  the  house  is  narrow  and  dark  and  chill, 
And  they  brought  her  not  of  their  own  free 

will ; 

But  an  awful  voice  had  bidden  her  come, 
And  she  left  her  dear  babes  and  friends  and 
home 

(43) 


44  My  New  Neighbor. 

To  dwell  through  all  time  in  the  lonesome 

place 
Where  friends  may  not  enter,  nor  see  her  face. 

And  I  know  a  quiet  neighbor  she'll  be, 

For  all  in  that  house  rest  so  tranquilly ; 

Not  a  sound  can  come  through  the  fast-closed 

door 
Till  time  shall  be  over,  and  death  no  more. 

And  thoughts  will  come  of  my  neighbor  to- 
night 

As  I  close  my  window — put  out  the  light. 

Shall  I  think  of  the  body,  in  death's  embrace, 

With  closed  eyes,  sealed  lips,  and  a  pale,  cold 
face? 

Nay !     Rather  I'll  think  of  the  soul's  quick 

flight 
To  its  own  bright  home  in  mansions  of  light, 
Where  the  Saviour  stands  by  the  open  door, 
Whom,  not  having  seen,  she  hath  loved  before. 


My  New  Neighbor.  45 

The  Saviour  knoweth  all  souls  that  are  His, 
And  welcomes  her  gladly  to  realms  of  bliss  ; 
He  bids  her  rest  calmly  in  Paradise 
Till  the  trumpet  shall  sound  and  the  dead  arise. 

She  is  clothed  in  beauty  celestial  now ; 
The  seal  of  the  ransomed  set  on  her  brow ; 
The  faithful  departed  are  gathering  near, 
And  voices  of  loved  ones  fall  sweet  on  her  ear. 

So  I'll  think  no  more  of  my  neighbor  to-night 
As  out  in  the  church-yard,  still  and  white, 
But  radiant  with  joy,  in  communion  sweet 
With  familiar  friends  at  her  Saviour's  feet ; 

And  ready  to  greet,  near  the  open  door, 
The  coming  friends  she  hath  loved  long  before, 
Who,  entering  there  through  the   Saviour's 

grace, 
May  behold  evermore  the  dear  one's  face. 


Float  lightly,  oh,  sea,  on  thy  surface  to-day, 
The  ship  that  is  bearing  our  loved  ones  away. 
Let  thy  gentle  waves  lull  them  as  softly  to 

rest 
As  the  mother's  sweet  song  lulls  the  babe  at 

her  breast. 
When  the  storm-god  shall  come  in  his  terrible 

might  , 

And  lash  thy  dark  waves  to  a  sickening  white  ; 
When  they,  in  their  agony,  leap  to  the  skies, 
Then  sink  in  deep  waters  with  moaning  and 

sighs, 
May  the  voice  that  had  power  over  wild  Gali- 
lee 
Bid  the  storm-god  "  be  still/'  whisper  "  peace  " 

unto  thee ; 
Then  praises  shall  rise  from  both  shores  to 

the  Lord 
Who   ruleth  the   tempest    and   calm  by  His 

word. 

(46) 


Within  the  halls  of  memory  m 

Hang  pictures  of  my  life  ; 
Some  lie  in  calm  and  peaceful  ways, 

Some  'mid  the  city's  strife ; 
Some  tell  of  loved  departed  ones, 

Some  of  a  dear  old  home, 
Others  of  fair  and  pleasant  lands 

Where  I  have  chanced  to  roam. 

And  now  again  new  pictures  come 

To  claim  a  little  space, 
Nor  shall  those  pictures  ever  fade 

While  memory  holds  her  place, 
Geneva,  on  her  terraced  side, 

Lies  bathed  in  glorious  light, 
Reflected  in  the  lake's  cool  depths 


As  in  a  mirror  bright. 


(47) 


48         From  Geneva  to   Watkins    Glen. 

And  then  that  lake  !  whose  beauty 

The  night  but  half  conceals ; 
No  pen  or  pencil  paint  the  view 

The  light  of  day  reveals. 
Fair  fields  and  vineyards,  mountains 

That  tower  to  kiss  the  sky, 
And  lave  their  feet  in  waves  whose  hues 

Are  borrowed  from  on  high. 

And  here  and  there  a  village  fair 

Lends  brightness  to  the  scene, 
With  Watkins  like  a  diamond 

In  crown  of  emerald  green. 
Glen  Alpha  !     'Tis  with  quickened  pulse 

We  tread  thy  narrow  ways, 
And  stop  to  look  with  wondrous  awe, 

Then  follow  still  the  Maze. 

In  Glen  Cathedral's  solemn  aisle 
We  pause  with  reverent  fear  ; 

Shut  out  from  all  the  world,  we  feel 
Its  Architect  is  near. 


From  Geneva  to   Wat  kins    Glen.         49 

A  choir  of  many  waters 

Its  ceaseless  song  doth  raise, 

A  choir  that  never  wearies 
Of  its  Creator's  praise. 

Did  Senecas  of  old  e'er  think 

Here  the  Great  Spirit  dwelt  ? 
And  as  they  came  within  its  walls 

His  sacred  presence  felt  ? 
We  think  it  may  be  so,  and  yet 

Short  time  have  we  for  thought : 
The  things  that  are  have  to  the  Glen 

Our  willing  footsteps  brought. 

O'er  labyrinthine  paths  we  move 

Through  scenes  that  charm  the  sight, 
Scarce  knowing  which  doth  please  us  most, 

Which  give  us  most  delight — 
The  pictures  in  the  Shadow  Gorge, 

The  moss  upon  the  wall, 
The  mirrors  in  the  Glen  of  Pools, 

The  rainbow  in  the  Fall. 
4 


50         From  Geneva  to   Watkins    Glen. 

With  many  a  lingering  look  we  turn, 

Leaving  the  Glen  behind  ; 
All  left  us  of  its  beauties  rare 

Are  pictures  in  our  mind, 
And  greater  love  to  God,  who  made 

Our  earthly  home  so  fair, 
And  gave  us  eyes  of  faith  to  see 

His  footprints  everywhere. 


(£n$uv  (Thoughts 

"  Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead  and  become  the  firstfruits  of  them 
that  slept.  For  since  by  man  came  death,  by  man  came  also  the  resur- 
rection from  the  dead." 

"  My  soul  fleeth  unto  the  Lord  before  the  morning  watch." 

WiLL  Easter  ever  come  to  me 

As  in  the  by-gone  time 
When  nought  but  joyous,  happy  thoughts 

Came  with  the  early  chime  ? 

Thoughts  of  a  Saviour  just  arisen 
Triumphant  from  the  grave  ; 

Thoughts  of  the  bright  hopes  newly  born 
In  those  He  died  to  save. 

Hopes  that  had  died  within  the  hearts 

Of  all  that  sorrowing  band 
When  the  loud,  bitter  cry  was  raised, 

And  darkness  filled  the  land. 


52  Easter   Thoughts. 

When  the  bowed  head  and  bleeding  side 
Proclaimed  death's  victory  won  ; 

When  the  dark  grave  received  their  Lord, 
And  malice  sealed  the  stone. 

But  "  Christ  is  risen,"  the  angel  said 

To  Mary,  at  the  tomb, 
And  "  Christ  is  risen  "  revived  the  hope 

That  perished  in  the  gloom. 

Last  Easter  came  as  bright  and  fair 

As  any  since  that  time  ; 
The  air  as  pure,  the  flowers  as  sweet, 

And  just  as  glad  the  chime. 

But  ah  !  that  joyous  Easter  chime 

Fell  on  a  dying  ear  ; 
The  last  sound  from  the  outer  world 

The  dying  one  would  hear, 

For  angels  fair  were  leading  her 
From  joys  that  earth  afford, 

Through  the  dark  grave  and  gate  of  death 
To  meet  her  risen  Lord, 


Easter    Thoughts.  53 

We  wonder  with  what  words  of  cheer 

He  met  her  on  the  way  ? 
And  what  the  bliss  to  her  revealed 

In  Paradise  that  day  ? 

We  know  not,  nor  can  heart  conceive 

The  glories  of  that  place  ; 
We  only  know  that  heavenly  joys 

Seemed  mirrored  in  her  face. 

We  only  know,  as  gathering  clouds 
Obscured  that  Easter  dawn, 

So  darker  shades  than  e'er  before 
Across  our  path  were  drawn. 

And  evermore  with  Easter  morn 
Will  thoughts  of  sadness  come, 

Yet  Christ,  the  Sun  of  Righteousness, 
Hath  shed  around  the  tomb 

Such  rays  of  heavenly  light  and  hope 
To  cheer  the  mourner's  heart, 

That  to  shut  out  all  joy  with  grief 
Would  be  the  heathen's  part. 


54  Easter   Thoughts. 

So  with  a  firmer  faith  we  grasp 
The  promise  He  has  given, 

And  hope  at  the  last  Easter  day 
To  meet  the  loved  in  heaven. 

Easter  Even,  April  15,  1865. 


|i  it  tu  n . 


WRITTEN"  FOR  THE  MEMORIAL  SERVICE  OF  WILLIAM 
H.   DE  WITT,  WHO   BUILT  THE  CHURCH   OF   THE 
HOLY   INNOCENTS,    ALBANY,   N.  Y..    IN    MEM- 
ORY  OF  FOUR  INFANT    CHILDREN. 

"  In  Rama  was  there  a  voice  heard  ;  lamentation,  and  weeping,  and 
great  mourning;  Rachel  weeping  for  her  chi'.irez.  ^r.d  would  not  be 
comforted  because  they  are  not." 

The  mothers  in  Rama  sank  sweetly  to  rest, 
With  dear  tender  babes  in  their  loving  arms 

pressed ; 
No  warning  had  they  that  the  tyrant's  dread 

sword 
Should  make  them  first  martyrs  to  Jesus,  their 

Lord. 

The  bright  morning  dawned  o'er  the  country 

so  fair : 

A  loud  voice  of  wailing  was  heard  on  the  air  j 

(55) 


56  Hymn. 

The  mothers  in  Rama  wept  sore  for  the  slain 
They  never  should   fold   in   their  fond  arms 
again. 

No  comfort  had  they  in  their  dark  hour  of 

woe, 
Nor  knew  that  Jehovah  had  ordered  it  so, 
Till  lowly  they  sat  at  the  dear  Saviour's  feet, 
And  drew  from  His  teaching  this  lesson. so 

sweet — 

That  all  who  for  Him  ever  suffered  and  died 
Should  with  Him  in  glory  forever  abide, 
And  they  who  would  enter  that  home  unde- 
fined, 
In  heart  and  in  spirit  must  be  as  a  child. 

We  bless  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  the  infant  of  days 
May  glorify  Thee,   and   in    death  win   Thee 

praise  ; 
We  thank  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  when  called  to 

depart 
The  aged  may  be  as  the  child,  pure  in  heart. 


Hymn.  57 

That  Thy  faithful  servant,  now  gone  from  our 
sight, 

In  Paradise  rests  with  the  children  of  light ; 

Oh,  grant  us  Thy  grace  so  to  follow  Thee  here 

That  we,  with  Thy  servant,  in  heaven  may  ap- 
pear 

Holy  Innocent's  Day,  1872. 


"Whosoever  shall  not  receive  the  kingdom  of  God  as  a  little  child, 
he  shall  not  enter  therein." 

We  come  again,  as  in  past  days, 
To  sing  our  joyful  Christmas  lays ; 
No  note  of  woe  should  mar  the  strain 
The  angels  sang  o'er  Judah's  plain. 

We  come  again,  as  in  past  days, 
To  tell  the  wonders  of  His  ways 
Who  took  from  earth  an  infant  band 
To  praise  Him  in  a  fairer  land. 

To  tell  how  Christ,  for  whom  they  died, 
Drew  little  children  to  His  side, 
And  in  His  loving  arms  did  press, 
And  blessed,  as  only  He  can  bless. 

How  mourning  mothers  from  that  day 
"  Thy  will  be  done  "  have  learned  to  say, 

(58) 


Hymn.  59 

And  love  to  think  their  babes  at  rest 
Upon  the  gentle  Saviour's  breast. 

And  we  would  breathe  a  low,  sweet  strain 
As  in  this  place  we  meet  again, 
In  memory  of  the  faithful  friend 
Who,  loving,  served  us  to  the  end. 

We  also  bless  Thy  holy  Name, 
Who  art  in  every  age  the  same, 
That  Thou  dost  gather  unto  Thee 
All  souls  of  child-like  purity. 

Here  in  the  church  he  loved  so  well 
Let  Thy  free  Spirit  ever  dwell, 
To  cleanse  and  purify  each  heart 
That  in  its  worship  takes  a  part. 

So  shall  the  work  that  he  began 

Be  blessed  unto  his  fellow-man  ; 

And  ransomed  souls  shall  sing  Thy  praise 

With  him  through  everlasting  days. 

Holy  Innocent's  Day,  1873. 


"  Thanks  be  unto  God  for  His  unspeakable  gift." 

There's  a  story  told  of  an  artisan 

Who  fashioned  in  metal  well, 
And  showed  his  thanks  for  the  talent  God  gave 

By  making  His  church  a  bell. 

It  rang  out  with  joy  to  welcome  his  bride, 

It  rang  for  his  children's  birth  ; 
It  tolled  with  a  sad  and  solemn  sound 

When  these  treasures  were  laid  in  earth. 

But  a  wondrous  charm  to  its  tongue  was  given 
To  soothe  the  woe  in  his  breast ; 

He  knew  by  the  comfort  its  sweet  tones  gave 
That  in  giving  he  had  been  blessed. 

And  he  grew  to  love  with  a  strong,  deep  love, 

The  friend  high  up  in  the  spire 
(60) 


Consecrated  Talents.  61 

That  seemed  to  call  him  from  cares  of  earth 
To  holier  things,  and  higher. 

He  thought  of  the  joy  his  one  gift  had  brought, 
He  thought  of  the  Gift  from  heaven. 

He  thought  of  the  thousands  of  dying  men 
To  whom  new  life  might  be  given. 

And  time  and  talent  and  all  that  he  had, 
Every  thought  and  deed  and  word, 

As  thanks  for  His  great  unspeakable  Gift 
He  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  Lord. 

Then  a  wondrous  charm  to  his  tongue  was 
given 

As  he  told  the  message  of  love, 
And  he  knew  by  the  peace  that  came  to  men 

That  his  work  was  accepted  above. 


We  enter,  Lord,  with  gladness 

Thy  sacred  courts  to-day ; 
We  banish  thoughts  of  sadness, 

And  raise  a  thankful  lay, 
With  cheerful  hearts  and  voices 

We  raise  the  joyful  strain, 
And  pray  that  Thou  wilt  bless  us 

Until  we  meet  again. 

In  mercy  Thou  hast  brought  us 

This  bright,  glad  day  to  see, 
And  by  Thy  Spirit  taught  us 

How  we  may  live  for  Thee. 
With  cheerful  hearts  and  voices 

We  raise  the  joyful  strain, 
And  pray  that  Thou  wilt  bless  us 

Until  we  meet  again. 

(62) 


Anniversary  Hymn.  63 

In  kindness  Thou  hast  taken 

Some  loved  ones  from  our  eyes, 
But  only  to  awaken 

With  Thee  in  Paradise. 
With  cheerful  hearts  and  voices 

We  raise  the  joyful  strain, 
And  pray  that  Thou  wilt  bless  us 

Until  we  meet  again. 

And  when  on  earth  forever 

These  tongues  shall  silent  be, 
Then  take  us  where  we  never 

Shall  cease  from  praising  Thee. 
With  cheerful  hearts  and  voices 

We  raise  the  parting  strain, 
And  pray  that  Thou  wilt  keep  us 

Until  we  meet  again. 


Bright  Easter  Morn !  sad  memories 

Come  thronging  with  thy  light. 
Sad  memories  of  sad,  sad  days, 

And  a  far  sadder  night 
When  in  the  shadow  of  the  grave 

Our  well-beloved  lay, 
And  wrestled  with  the  angel  Death 

Until  the  break  of  day. 

Wrestled  until  the  blessing  came 

Of  everlasting  peace, 
And  perfect  rest  from  care  and  pain 

'Mid  joys  that  never  cease. 
Rest  with  the  saints  in  Paradise, 

Rest  with  the  loved  ones  gone, 

Rest  with  her  Saviour,  till  shall  break 

The  last  great  Easter  morn. 
(64) 


Easter  Memories.  65 

Glad  Easter  bells  !  sad  memories 

Are  with  your  notes  combined  ; 
One  Easter  morn  thy  merry  tunes 

Came  floating  on  the  wind, 
Came  floating  through  the  casement 

Unto  the  dying  ear 
Of  one  who  never  more  on  earth 

Sweet  melodies  should  hear, 

For  ere  thy  chimes  had  ceased  to  ring 

The  joyous  Easter  in, 
Her  spirit  left  its  home  of  clay, 

Of  weakness,  pain,  and  sin, 
And  cheered  by  heavenly  music 

From  bright  angelic  bands, 
She  sought  beyond  the  gates  of  death 

"  A  house  not  made  with  hands." 

Sweet  Easter  flowers  !  sad  memories 

Are  with  thy  beauties  blent, 
For  flowers  that  through  the  hallowed  fane 

Their  fragrant  odors  sent, 
5 


66  Easter  Memories. 

Were  brought  to  cheer  the  saddened  home. 

Where  lay  pur  sainted  dead, 
And  speak  to  us  of  hope  in  death, 

When  hope  in  life  had  fled. 

To  speak,  with  sweetly  silent  voice, 

The  resurrection  power 
Of  Him  who  from  the  earth's  dark  tomb 

Had  raised  each  beauteous  flower. 
Who,  victor  over  Death  and  Hell 

And  o'er  the  insatiate  grave, 
Had  risen,  the  firstfruits  from  the  dead, 

The  Life,  with  power  to  save. 

Dear  Easter  hopes  !  sad  memories 

Shall  gladden  in  thy  light 
As  surely  as  the  coming  day 

Dispels  the  shades  of  night. 
As  surely  as  the  Light  that  broke 

Upon  the  world  that  day 
Brought  life  to  view,  and  took  from  death 

The  bitterness  away. 


Easter  Memories.  67 

Then  in  this  light  will  we  rejoice, 

And  sorrow  not  as  those 
Around  whose  friends,  untinged  with  hope, 

Death's  darkest  shadows  close. 
Ring  out,  ye  bells,  your  gladdest  lay ! 

Still  breathe  of  hope,  ye  flowers  ! 
The  voice  that  to  her  heart  spake  peace, 

Shall  whisper  "  peace  "  to  ours. 


Site  gwjjrt  at  tUt  gtyvfttUvt. 

WHENEVER  we  think  or  read  of  the  Angel 
at  the  Sepulchre  an  ideal  always  comes  to 
our  mind ;  an  ideal  so  beautiful  that  it  is  ever 
welcome  to  the  place  it  has  assumed.* 

We  saw  it  first  when  the  artist  was  giving 
the  final  touches  to  this  grand  creation  of  his 
genius,  and  as  we  stood  in  awe  before  its  ma- 
jestic purity,  could  not  but  hope  he  might 
long  remain  with  us  who  could  so  embody 
the  spirit  of  beauty  in  "  the  beauty  of  holi- 
ness." We  saw  it  last  in  the  "  City  of  the 
Dead,"  where  surrounding  loveliness  enhanced 
every  grace.  Encircled  by  living  green  ;  stand- 
ing in  bold  relief  against  a  background  of 
deepest    blue,  with  just    one    ray  of  golden 


*  A  monument,  by  Palmer,  in  the  Albany  Rural  Cemetery,  to  the 
memory  of  Mrs.  Robert  Lenox  Banks. 
(68) 


The  Angel  at  the  Sepulchre.  69 

light  from  the  western  sky  touching  the  face, 
it  was  something  one  could  not  easily  forget. 
It  seemed  not  like  cold  marble,  but  like  a 
living  watcher  over  the  sleeping  dead,  only 
waiting  until  the  resurrection  morn  to  speak 
words  of  joy,  and  lead  them  to  their  risen 
and  ascended  Lord. 

Why  come  ye  to  this  lower  world, 

Bright  angel  from  above  ? 
Why  leave  the  realms  of  glorious  light, 

Of  purest  joy  and  love, 
To  linger  in  the  gloomy  dawn 

Beside  an  earthly  tomb 
Whose  open  door,  with  broken  seal, 

Shows  but  an  empty  room  ? 

No  minister  of  wrath  art  thou, 
To  grasp  the  avenging  sword ; 

Not  thine  to  execute  on  earth 
The  terrors  of  the  Lord. 

Though  majesty  doth  sit  serene 
Upon  thy  lofty  brow, 


yo  The  Angel  at  the  Sepulchre. 

Too  near  Love's  throne  thy  place  hath  been 
To  lose  Love's  image  now. 

Why  tarry  then  ?  and  who  are  they 

The  sun's  first  rays  reveal  ? 
They  surely  can  not  roll  the  stone, 

They  dare  not  break  Rome's  seal ! 
They  pause  in  doubt — then  hasten  on 

Toward  the  sacred  place  ; 
In  mute  surprise  they  gaze  around, 

Then  look  upon  thy  face. 

And  this  is  why  thou  lingerest  ? 

Thou  hast  somewhat  to  tell 
To  these  sad  women  at  the  tomb ! 

Oh,  it  shall  please  them  well, 
For  never  yet  bore  messenger 

Such  words  of  holy  cheer  ! 
"  The  Lord  is  risen,  go  seek  Him  hence, 

Thou  canst  not  find  Him  here." 

The  Lord  is  risen  !  that  glorious  strain 
Shall  never  die  away 


The  Angel  at  the  Sepulchre.  yi 

Till  thou  shalt  come  with  that  dear  One 

At  the  last  Easter  day, 
To  bid  the  dead  in  Him  arise 

And  with  the  quick  ascend, 
That  they  who  sought  an  unseen  Lord 

May  find  a  present  Friend. 


We  praise  Thee,  O  God ; 

Thy  children  shall  sing 
With  all  things  on  earth 

That  worship  their  King, 
While  angels  and  cherubs 

And  seraphs  do  cry, 
And  Holy,  thrice  Holy, 

Resound  through  the  sky. 

Prophets  and  martyrs, 
Apostles  praise  Thee ; 

The  Church  in  all  places 
Wherever  it  be 

Doth  own  Thee  as  Father, 
Thy  Son  ever  bless, 

And  both,  with  the  Spirit 

One  God  doth  confess. 
(72) 


Childretis  Te  Deum.  73 

Thou  Christ,  as  the  King 

Of  glory  we  own, 
Who  humbly  to  earth 

Came  down  from  Thy  throne 
To  win  for  believers, 

Through  death's,  sharpest  pain, 
A  home  everlasting 

In  glory  again. 

Save,  Lord,  Thy  people, 

Thine  heritage  bless ; 
Govern  and  keep  us 

From  sin  and  distress. 
Lord  Jesus,  have  mercy  ; 

We  trust  in  Thy  name, 
Have  mercy  upon  us, 

And  save  us  from  shame. 


i. 

O  BLESSED  Lord  Jesus,  we  sing  to  Thy  praise 
The  sweetest  glad  songs  that  our  voices  can 

raise. 
With  joy  do  we  hasten  Thy  coming  to  greet, 
And  hailing  Thee  Saviour,  bend  low  at  Thy 

feet. 

Chorus. 
The  angels  are  singing  Thy  praise  through  the 

sky, 
Earth's  glad  voices  ringing  shall  join  theirs  on 

high  ; 
Deep  unto  deep  calleth,  thanksgiving  to  raise, 
And  mountains  and  valleys  break  forth  into 

praise. 

O  blessed  Lord  Jesus,  we  heed  not  that  Thou 
Hast  come  to  the  earth  in  humility  now ; 
74) 


Christmas  Carols.  75 

We  know  that  the  prophets  and  sages  of  old 
No  splendor  or  pomp  at  Thy  coming  foretold. 

O  blessed  Lord  Jesus,  Thy  coming  to  earth 
Has  given  earth's  children  a  glorious  birth  ; 
Now  God  is  our  Father,  our  Brother  Thou  art, 
Make  quickly  Thy  home  in  each  fond  waiting 
heart. 

O  blessed  Lord  Jesus,  bright  star  of  our  night, 
Make  glad  all  the  nations  that  walk  in  Thy 

light. 
Shine  on  in  Thy  brightness,  the  heathen  to 

bless, 
Till  all  tongues  united  Thy  name  shall  confess. 


j6  Christmas  Carols, 


II. 

DOWN  through  the  clouds  in  the  silent  night, 
Far  from  their  homes  in  glorious  light, 
Came  fair  angels  to  sing  o'er  the  earth 
The  joyful  news  of  the  Saviour's  birth. 

Chorus. 

And  the  heavens  rang 
With  the  song  they  sang, 
There  is  peace  on  the  earth,  good-will  to  man, 
And  glory  to  God  in  the  highest. 

The  listening  shepherds  heard  the  sound, 
And  saw  the  wonderful  light  around, 
And  heard  the  voice  of  an  angel  say, 
"There  are  glad  tidings  for  you  to-day." 

They  came  in  haste  to  the  lowly  place, 

And  looked  with  joy  on  the  Christ-child's  face ; 

No  offerings  rare  had  they  to  bring, 

But  they  worshipped  Him  as  Lord  and  King. 


Christmas  Carols.  JJ 

The  magi  wise,  in  the  east  afar, 
Saw  the  light  that  seemed  a  guiding  star, 
And  following,  came  where  its  radiance  shed 
A  holy  light  round  an  infant's  head. 

The  gifts  they  brought  were  costly  and  rare, 
Such  gifts  as  for  great  ones  only  are, 
But  they  laid  them  at  the  infant's  feet, 
And  deemed   that   for  Him   such   gifts  were 
meet. 

Oh,  rich  and  wise,  bring  your  gifts  to-day, 
And  join  with  earth's  poor  ones  to  swell  the 

lay 
That  first  was  heard  on  that  Christmas  night, 
When  angels  came  from  the  realms  of  light 
And  the  heavens  rang 
With  the  song  they  sang, 
There  is  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  man, 
And  glory  to  God  in  the  highest. 


78  Christmas  Carols. 


III. 

Ring  out,  ring  out,  O  Christmas  bells ! 
A  tale  of  joy  your  music  tells ; 
A  Saviour  King  was  born  to-day 
To  rule  the  hearts  of  men  for  aye. 

Chorus. 

For  this  we  join  to  swell  the  strain 
The  angels  sang  o'er  Judah's  plain ; 
Glory  to  God,  good-will  to  men 
Shall  rise  and  fill  the  heavens  again. 

O  Lord  of  lords  and  King  of  kings, 
Sweet  peace  and  joy  Thy  presence  brings ; 
We  know  the  Father  loved  us  well 
To  rescue  thus  our  souls  from  hell. 

But  who  can  measure  all  the  love 

That  brought  Thee  from  Thy  throne  above, 


Christmas  Carols.  79 

With  us  to  live,  for  us  to  die, 

That  we  might  dwell  with  Thee  on  high. 


Dear  Saviour,  elder  Brother,  Friend, 
Abide  with  us  till  life  shall  end ; 
And  then,  when  death  shall  set  us  free, 
Within  the  kingdom  won  by  Thee, 

Earth's  ransomed  ones  shall  swell  the  strain 

All  worthy  is  the  Lamb  once  slain, 

"  Honor  and  glory  to  receive 

From  all  created  things  that  breathe." 


What  shall  I  do  with  Jesus,  called  the  Christ? 
This  lone,  strange  man !     So  sad  and  yet  so 

calm  ; 
So  awful  in  His  silent  majesty 
I  fear  the  power  He  spake  of  may  be  His 
To  crush  me  if  I  do  this  evil  deed. 
For  well  I  know  'tis  evil.    Fault  there's  none. 
His  innocence  doth  so  envelope  Him, 
I  could  not  think  Him  guilty  if  I  would. 
And  yet  methinks  if  He  hath  any  power 
'Twere  never  better  used  than  now  to  hurl 
Defiance  at  these  envious,  hateful  Jews, 
And  wreak  His  vengeance  on  the  coward  crew 
That  e'en  desert  Him  in  His  direst  need. 
I  fain  would  save  Him,  for  my  heart  is  stirred 
To  pity  it  hath  never  known  before. 
Pity  and    Fear !     Strange  feelings  these  for 

Pilate  ! 

Shall  I  hold  to  them,  and  make  my  nobler 
(80) 


Pilate  s  Question.  81 

Conquer  my  baser  self?     Or  shall  I  make 
Myself  a  slave  to  serve  these  angry  dogs 
That  cry  for  blood,  and  will  not  be  appeased 
Though  blood  were  offered,  if  it  be  not  His, 
And  grudge  me  if  they  be  not  satisfied? 

Yet  why  should  I — a  Roman — lose  one  chance 
For  place' or  power  to  succor  one  so  friend- 
less ? 

Deserted,  save  by  a  few  weak  women  ; 
One  voice  alone  upraised  to  plead  for  Him, 
And  that  the  voice  of  one  who  may  lose  most 
If  I  am  merciful.     From  the  vast  throng 
That  followed  where  He  went,  and  heard  the 

words 
That  fell  as  graciously  upon  their  ears 
As   falls   the    evening   dew   on   sun-scorched 

flowers, 
Comes  not  one  sound  to  help  me  choose  the 

right, 
Or   strengthen   good   resolves.     His  blood — 

they  cry — 

Be  on  us  and  our  children.     Let  it  be. 
6 


82  Pilate  s  Question. 

I'll  wash  my  hands  to  prove  my  innocence ; 
Then  yield  Him  to  them. 

What  shall  I  do  with  Jesus  ?     Ever  now 
Between  me  and  the  things  I  look  upon 
Comes  a  clear  vision  of  that  pale,  worn  face, 
With  its  last  look  of  awful  agony 
That  will  not  be  put  out  in  darkest  night. 
When  sleep  comes  not,  then  is  the  vision  there  ; 
And  when  sleep  comes,  then  comes  that  face 

in  dreams. 
When   morning  dawns  and  with   its  veil  of 

light 
Shuts  out  the  stars,  it  shuts  not  out  from  me 
The  dazzling  brightness   of  those  searching 

eyes. 
The  burning  glances  of  a  thousand  midday 

suns 
Upon  my  naked  sight  were  not  so  hard  to  bear. 
I  could  curse  the  nation  that  drove  me  on 
To  do  the  deed,  conscience,  seared  though  it 

was, 
Still  told  me  I  should  bitterly  repent. 


Pilate  s  Question.  83 

Oh,  would  that  I  had  known  that   day  the 

power 
An  outraged  conscience  doth  possess  to  goad 
The  mind  to  madness — take  all  joy  from  life. 
Banished,  deserted,  homeless,  powerless, 
Haunted  forever  by  that  face,  and  thoughts 
Of  that  one  deed  that  make  me  ever  feel 
That  it  were  better  I  had  not  been  born, 
What  can  life  hold  for  such  a  wretch  as  I  ? 
And  death  ?     I  dare  not  look  upon  it, 
For  ere  I  left  the  Syrian  shore  I  heard 
Christ's  followers  proclaim  a  risen  Lord, 
And  reason  well  of  judgment  yet  to  come. 
Can  it  be  that  in  that  dreaded  future 
Our  places  shall  be  changed  ?     I  the  culprit  ? 
He  the  Judge?     If  I  trembled  even  then 
Before  His  gaze,  where,  where  shall  I  hide  me 
If  these  things  be  true  ?     And  that  they  are 
I  am  as  sure  as  of  His  innocence. 
Oh,  miserable  man  !     Comfortless  ;  hopeless  ; 
Trembling    I   ask,  "What  will    He  do  with 

me?" 


84  Pilate  s  Question. 

What  shall  I  do  with  Jesus?     For  himself 
Must  each  one  ask  and  answer  Pilate's  ques- 
tion. 
For  the  dear  Lord  still  waiteth  patiently, 
With  pleading  face,  and  tender,  wistful  look, 
For  words  that  put  Him  to  an  open  shame 
Or  hold  Him  in  the  closest  bonds  of  love. 
O  soul  immortal !     What  shall  be  thy  choice  ? 
To  send  Him  sad  and  sorrowing  from  thee 

now, 
Or  make  of  Him  thy  Friend,  that  in  that  day 
When  thou  shalt  stand  before  the  Judgment- 
seat 
Thou  mayest  not  fear  what  He  will  do  with 
thee. 


®W0   '¥fli**0. 

SUGGESTED  by  a  picture  by  the  celebrated 
French  painter,  Horace  Vernet,  of  the  "  An- 
gel of  Death  bearing  off  a  young  girl."  A 
youth  at  her  side  has  hidden  his  face,  that  he 
may  not  see  the  approach  of  the  "  King  of 
Terrors,"  who  comes  to  the  girl,  not  as  the 
grinning,  ghastly  skeleton  we  so  often  see  rep- 
resented, but  as  an  angelic  messenger,  with  a 
form  dark  and  mysterious,  it  is  true,  but  a 
face,  when  closely  inspected,  of  celestial  beauty, 
and  a  touch  too  gentle  to  disturb  the  impress 
of  her  form  on  the  couch  from  which  he  is 
raising  her,  while  the  youth  seems  unconscious 
of  his  presence. 

I. 

Oh,  horrid,  grim,  and  ghastly  death  ! 
Thou  comest  with  thy  chilling  breath 
To  wither  all  the  flowers  of  hope 

That  in  my  pathway  lie. 

(85) 


86  Two  Voices, 

The  fairest  maid  these  eyes  have  seen 
Was  mine  to  woo  and  win,  I  ween ; 
'Twas  only  on  life's  downward  slope 
I  thought  that  she  might  die. 

By  pleasant  paths,  o'er  fragrant  flowers, 
I  hoped  to  lead  my  love  to  bowers 
And  shady  nooks  of  living  green, 
Where  zephyrs  wander  free. 
Love's  rosy  light  I  thought  would  last, 
But  thou  hast  come  to  overcast 
Its  glowing  morn,  and  stand  between 
My  cherished  one  and  me. 

I  can  not  see  thee  grasp  her  hand 
And  lead  her  to  the  unknown  land 
Through  dismal  shades,  where  phantoms  grim 
May  freeze  her  soul  with  fright. 
O  Reason  !  thy  poor,  flickering  ray 
Lures  but  to  darken  sorrow's  day, 
For  Death  is  king  where  faith  is  dim, 
And  thine  the  only  light. 


Two   Voices.  87 

II. 

My  loving,  patient  watcher  sleeps  ; 
The  long,  sad  vigil  that  he  keeps 
Beside  my  couch  has  wearied  him 
E'en  to  forgetfulness. 
Dear  Father,  in  Thy  love  impart 
Some  solace  to  his  breaking  heart ; 
The  cup  Thou  fillest  to  the  brim 

With  anguish,  do  Thou  bless. 

Give  him  the  faith  Thou  givest  to  me — 
The  faith  beyond  this  world  to  see 
A  glorious  realm  where  Thou  art  King, 
Nor  sin,  nor  death  shall  reign. 
1  feel  the  messenger  is  near 
That  parts  me  from  my  loved  one  here ; 
But  thou,  O  Death,  hast  lost  thy  sting, 
Christ's  dead  shall  live  again. 

So  gently  dost  thou  draw  me  hence, 
So  softly  steal  my  soul  from  sense 
And  bear  me  on  to  Paradise 

To  meet  my  Saviour  dear, 


88  Two   Voices. 

Though  dim  and  shadowy  thou  art, 
No  terror  doth  thy  form  impart ; 
There  is  a  look  within  thine  eyes 
Forbids  all  thought  of  fear. 

It  may  be  I  shall  pass  to  light 
Through  shadows  darker  than  the  night, 
But  since  my  Lord  hath  been  that  way 
I  will  not  dread  the  tomb : 
I  know  that  I  can  trust  His  power 
Most  fully  in  the  darkest  hour ; 
His  promise  is — to  be  my  stay 
Until  I  leave  the  gloom. 


RRS 


-  i 


